


About Last Night

by cabbagespoon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, College AU, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vomit, Whump, emeto, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:11:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbagespoon/pseuds/cabbagespoon
Summary: A collection of whumpy Voltron college au drabbles focused on Shiro, Keith, and Lotor.





	1. Chapter 1

It was official, he was dying. Shiro had always assumed that he’d have a little forewarning before kicking the bucket, but fate had apparently deemed him unworthy of that knowledge.

Okay, so maybe he was being a little melodramatic. But in his current condition, Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if his soul decided to slip out the back exit and kick his sorry ass headlong into Purgatory. If that would put an end to his suffering then, dammit, he’d take it. He was beginning to wish he’d listened to his roommate’s advice and just stayed in bed. At least then he could perish in peace.

Bodies began bustling around him, chairs scraped against linoleum, and papers rustled as they were hastily shoved inside backpacks. Shiro jerked upright, blinking in confusion before he registered that class had ended. He belatedly realized that he hadn’t taken a single note, couldn’t recall a word the professor had blabbered during the entire lecture. He’d been too busy trying to hold down his breakfast and keep his eyes open. He was so dizzy, so unbelievably tired.

Shiro licked at the sweat dotting his upper lip, resisting the urge to double over as his stomach gurgled through another angry cramp. He held still, panting through his nose as he rode out the fresh surge of nausea. His fingers trembled minutely when he reached down to tuck his textbooks back inside his bag. Acidic air abruptly bubbled up his throat and Shiro ducked his head, barely managing to swallow down the burp.

“Hey, man, you doin’ okay?”

Shiro flinched. He swayed upright and found himself staring up at the big kid who always sat behind him. Hunk? Yeah, that was it. The guy’s dark brows were furrowed with concern, large hand reaching out to pat Shiro’s shoulder before he knew what was happening.

“No offense, but you don’t look so good.” Shiro’s stomach chose that moment to whine loudly in agreement and Hunk winced sympathetically. “I think your stomach asked more questions than anyone,” he tried to joke.

Shiro huffed out a strained breath of laughter, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he grimaced. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

“Yikes, that sucks,” Hunk returned the grimace. “You need some help getting home?”

“Oh, no, thanks,” Shiro stuttered. “I’ll be fine. Dorm’s five minutes away.” On top of everything else the guy’s well-intentioned concern was beginning to fluster him. His stomach lurched preemptively and Shiro knew he didn’t have much time. This conversation needed to be over yesterday.

Hunk didn’t look convinced. “Will someone else be there? Seriously, man, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“My, uh, my roommates home,” Shiro gulped. “Thanks — thanks, anyway,” he paused, quelling a low belch behind his fist.

“Okay, um, I guess if you’re sure —“ Hunk shrugged, scooping up his own backpack.

Shiro nodded and waved, jogging down the stairs before Hunk could protest. He didn’t mean to be rude, but if he opened his mouth again Shiro was pretty sure he would lose the precarious control he’d been maintaining for the past hour and a half.

When he finally made it back to the dorm, Shiro was drenched in sticky sweat, swaying on his feet because the ground wouldn’t stop seesawing. He slumped against the door and let his bag drop unceremoniously to the floor. He closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively; one last ditch effort to preserve his dignity.

“Shiro?” Lotor’s velvety, sleepy voice lilted from the living room. There was a soft rustle and creak of cushions as Lotor’s disheveled bedhead emerged from the couch. A textbook thumped to the floor and he cursed. “I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?” He yawned and checked his phone, then frowned. “You’re home early,” he commented suspiciously. “Was your last class— Shiro?”

Shiro shook his head, slapping his hand over his mouth just in time to muffle a wet burp. Bitterness flooded the back of his throat and he gagged, stumbling urgently towards the small bathroom.

“Shit,” Lotor was up off the couch in an instant, quickly tightening the strings on his sweatpants as he snatched a water bottle off the coffee table and followed after Shiro —

— who had inexplicably stopped short and was sagging in the doorway, hunched shoulders convulsing with tremors. Lotor heard a low gurgle, then another suppressed belch, and suddenly Shiro’s cupped palm was dripping with watery liquid.

“All right,” Lotor tutted and jumped into action, gripping Shiro’s shoulders and urging him forward. “Just hold on a moment. Right, there we are,” he encouraged as he lowered Shiro to his knees and lifted the toilet lid. “Just lean forward a bit. You can let go now.”

Shiro pulled his hand away and the mouthful he’d managed to catch cascaded into the bowl. He lurched forward and heaved, muscles trembling as a thick slurry poured from his mouth and splashed violently into the water.

“Christ, Shiro,” Lotor sighed, crouching down behind him. He waited until Shiro had a moment to breathe before wiping his dirty hand with a warm wash cloth. “I told you to stay home, pig-headed neanderthal.”

Shiro coughed and spat weakly at the strands of saliva clinging to his lips. Before he could retort, another gurgling retch tore from his throat, waves of sick spilling out of him like a broken fire-hydrant.

“There you go,” Lotor encouraged, resting a supportive hand between the coiled shoulder blades. “Get it up. You’ll be all right in a moment.” Always so practical.

But Shiro wasn’t all right. He could feel his muscles contracting so hard he was surprised he hadn’t fractured anything yet, his stomach clawing up his throat and shredding his insides. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw a single fucking breath without choking on his own spit. His fingers clenched around the rim of the bowl, back arching sporadically as he struggled through the bout. Coughing led to more retching, and he just couldn’t, couldn’t —

“Shiro, calm down.” Lotor’s smooth baritone drifted over his shoulder, gentle and soothing while lithe fingers ran up and down the center of his back. “Don’t focus on fighting it. Focus on allowing your body to do what it needs to. Let go.” The fingers traced down the curve of Shiro’s ribcage, then underneath his t-shirt, warm palm finally coming to rest over his bellybutton, coaxing him. “It will not last forever. Just relax.”

A final contraction and the last dregs of whatever had been on his stomach trickled out of his mouth, dribbling over his chin and into the water. Shiro groaned, panting raggedly as his muscles gradually relaxed and he wilted over the bowl, cheek smushed unattractively against the rim.

“Now that is a look,” Lotor teased, brushing Shiro’s damp forelock out of his eyes.

His cool palm felt good against Shiro’s skin and he hummed appreciatively before he realized what he was doing.

“You have a temperature,” Lotor frowned, palm lingering over Shiro’s forehead a little longer than was necessary. “You should have said something. I would have insisted that you stayed home.”

Shiro grunted dismissively and reached up to yank off a wad of toilet paper. He wiped his nose, scrubbed his mouth, and flushed the mess before weaving to his feet.

“Steady,” Lotor cautioned, wrapping his hand around Shiro’s bicep when he swayed. “Take it slow. You really ought to be in bed.”

Shiro gulped a sloppy drink of water from the faucet, swished and spit, then shook his head. “Couch,” he rasped. “ —’s closer.” He straightened, palming his stomach as he shuffled into the living room and collapsed face-first onto the sofa.

Lotor shook his head at the muffled groan and sat down in the only other unoccupied chair. He twirled his long hair into a messy bun on top of his head, holding it in place with a few efficient snaps of a rubber band, then picked up his abandoned textbook and shuffled through a few pages until he found his spot. He threw a water bottle in Shiro’s general direction, which bounced off his ass before rolling onto the floor.

“Hydrate,” Lotor ordered, managing to sound nonchalant and threatening all at once. It was a talent.

Shiro burped into the cushion, then rolled over and curled his long limbs into a fetal position, arm still hugging his stomach. “Sorry,” he croaked, making an effort to stifle the next one. “This came out of nowhere. You don’t have to stay. Don’t wanna get you sick, too.”

“I have a superior immune system,” Lotor dismissed. “And I most certainly am not leaving you alone to drown in your own bodily fluids.” He flipped the page and continued reading.

“How noble of you,” Shiro snorted. His stomach emitted another queasy gurgle and he buried his head underneath a pillow with a moan.

“When your stomach settles a little, you should take something for that fever.”

“Don’t think that’s a — good idea,” Shiro hiccuped. “Can’t swallow anything right now.”

“Well you ignored my first good idea, and see where that got you?” Lotor snipped, finally tossing aside the textbook he most certainly wasn’t reading.

Shiro didn’t answer. Instead, he sat up, hand rubbing absently underneath his shirt. He’d gone very pale, glistening forehead furrowed in concentration.

“What is it?” Lotor asked, worry bleeding through his annoyance.

Shiro gulped once, twice, then, “I, uh, I need to use the restroom.”

“Shiro, I don’t think you have anything left to throw up.”

Shiro squirmed, teetering slowly to his feet. “No, I, um…could you turn on the TV or something?”

Oh. Oh. Shiro blushed so furiously that Lotor thought he might spontaneously combust on the spot.

“Oh,” Lotor winced, sighing sympathetically. “Of course. I’ll be out here if you need anything, all right?”

Shiro nodded his thanks and shuffled miserably back into the bathroom. He shut the door and Lotor flipped on the television as promised, turning the volume up a little louder than usual.

When Shiro finally emerged almost half an hour later, he was gray and shaky and his shirt had melded into a second skin. The arm that seemed to be permanently lassoed against his belly was wrapped up in his shirt, as though he couldn’t let go of the pressure point long enough to bother detangling himself.

“Poor thing. Come here,” Lotor cooed, patting the seat next to him. He’d sort of meant it as a joke, but was surprised when Shiro obediently stumbled over to the couch and sank down into a boneless heap on the cushions. His head rolled listlessly against the headrest and his eyelids immediately fluttered.

“Feeling any better?”

Shiro let out a breathy burp and grimaced, “Fuck. Sorry.” He pressed a fist to his lips as a precaution.

“I think we’re far past that,” Lotor chuckled and pulled over a small trash bin, setting it within easy reach. “And don’t be. If it helps you feel better, I don’t mind.”

“Feel like I could sleep for a month,” Shiro slurred, swallowing experimentally.

“At this rate, we’ll be fortunate to get you through the night,” Lotor offered facetiously.

“At this rate, I’d happily welcome the sweet release of death,” Shiro murmured, already half-asleep.

“Of course you would,” Lotor rolled his eyes, and turned back to his textbook. But ten minutes later, when Shiro was dead to the world, drooling on the cushions and snoring like his life depended on it, Lotor made sure to fetch a blanket. He tucked it around the shivering man’s shoulders and ensured that his feet were covered.

Of course, when Shiro woke up, Lotor would swear to the heavens that he knew nothing about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has a stomach bug. Inspired by some seriously beautiful artwork from @kotyonoksnz - check it out on Tumblr!

“So, I guess you’re not up for spaghetti and meatballs?”

Keith glanced down at the bags of groceries in his hands, then back up at Shiro as he kicked the door closed with his boot. The taller boy had just emerged from the bathroom looking like death warmed over. He was swaying on his feet, one arm wrapped securely around his stomach as he sagged against the doorframe.

“Shit,” Keith drawled. “The one night I actually plan dinner.”

The last vestiges of color drained from Shiro’s face. “Please don’t — talk about —“ He cupped a hand over his mouth and made a noticeable effort to swallow before retching forcefully into his palm. Shiro promptly whirled on his heels back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

“Shit,” Keith repeated, dropping the groceries unceremoniously on the counter. They didn’t have the supplies for this. He’d been shopping for dinner, not a quarantine. He was gonna have to make another run.

Almost an hour later, Shiro still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, and Keith was feeling a little panicky. He hadn’t heard any noise in a while and Keith was terrified that Shiro had knocked himself out on the toilet seat or maybe smothered himself with the shower curtain - or just given up and drowned….

“Shiro?” Keith knocked lightly. “How you holdin' up?”

When there was no response, Keith pulled out a hairpin and began jimmying the lock. “I’m coming in, okay?” He rolled his eyes at himself when the handle simply twisted open.

Shiro was lying on the bathmat at the base of the toilet, curled precariously on his side with both arms wrapped loosely around his stomach. His nose was buried in the rug and Keith was pretty sure he was snoring. Definitely drooling. Keith felt a little ashamed of himself as an involuntary smile pricked at the corners of his lips. Shiro couldn’t help it. He couldn’t breathe out of his busted nose on days when he _wasn’t_ a walking germ factory.

“Ah, man,” Keith sighed as he crouched down and placed a hand on the older boy’s shoulder, shaking him gently. Shiro’s breath hitched wetly as he murmured an incoherent protest into the rug. “Shiro, come on. You can’t sleep on the floor.”

He peeked a look inside the toilet and grimaced, hurriedly flushing its contents. Shiro groaned and rolled onto his back, blinking glassy eyes up at Keith.

“Hey,” Keith greeted, smiling sympathetically as he knelt beside the other boy and ran a hand through Shiro’s sweat-soaked bangs to get them out of his face. “I vote couch.”

Shiro’s throat worked with a few audible swallows before he found his voice. “Feels like — ‘m on a fuckin’ boat.” He did another half roll, mushing his face hard against Keith’s available thigh, as if that might anchor his unsteady world.

“Yeah,” Keith said, fingers pausing momentarily as he lingered over Shiro’s forehead. “You’re running a fever. No wonder you feel so shitty.”

“My glock’s in the top drawer,” Shiro mumbled into Keith’s shirt. “You have my permission to use it.”

“How ‘bout medicine and some water,” Keith suggested, unamused. “Less mess.”

Shiro shook his head, cheeks inflating slightly as he suppressed a burp. “Jus’ gonna throw it up.”

“Maybe,” Keith admitted. “But at least you’ll have something in your stomach. Now come on, sit up.”

“B-bedside — manner needs some work, Kogane,” Shiro hiccuped softly.

“Cut me some slack. You pull out all the bells and whistles. No half-assed colds for you.” Keith scooted up on his knees, pulling his hair back into a ponytail with a few efficient snaps before easing Shiro upright. “Nah, it’s gotta be a hundred-and-two-degree frickin’ fever and hurling your guts up all over the place.”

“Please stop ta—“ Shiro abruptly shut his mouth, broad shoulders rolling with a silent gag. “—alking,” he finished after the urge to heave subsided.

“Sorry,” Keith grimaced, holding Shiro at arms length as he supported his shoulders and prepared to help him back over the bowl. “You good?” he asked dubiously.

Shiro swayed as Keith eased him to his feet, grabbing onto the sink and Keith’s shirt. He swallowed determinedly, once, twice, then nodded — pale but resolute.

Keith frowned, watching the rapid bobbing motion of Shiro’s throat and wasn’t convinced. “I’ll grab a bucket.”

He deposited Shiro on the couch and retreated to the kitchen in search of something he desperately hoped they wouldn’t need. When he reentered the living room, he found Shiro sprawled facedown on the couch, one leg hanging off the side and the other perched awkwardly on a mound of pillows.

“Shiro?”

Shiro released a congested sounding groan into the cushion, shoulders jerking with another hiccup. He mumbled something that was too muffled to be coherent. When his attempt was met with silence, he lifted his head to look at Keith and rested his flushed cheek on a pillow.

“Final’s tomorrow,” Shiro gulped. “They’re not gonna let me off the hook.” His stomach gurgled angrily and Shiro whimpered into the pillow, hugging himself as relentless shivers traveled down the length of his body and back up again.

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Keith picked up his textbook and made himself comfortable, settling in for the long haul. “Scoot over, gigantor.”

Shiro obediently shimmied down, pulling his legs up to make room for Keith. His sweatshirt had ridden up in the process and he apparently didn’t have the energy to pull it back over his exposed stomach. But the shivers had abruptly dissipated and now Shiro was back to sweating through his clothes, so Keith let him be.

Shiro rested his head on Keith’s thigh, releasing a quiet, appreciative sigh as Keith began running his fingers through the mess of damp hair. He massaged carefully over Shiro’s scalp, circling his fingers in a soothing motion until he felt the older boy’s tense muscles relaxing. His eyes were beginning to droop, fixated absently on the flickering scenes beaming from the muted television. His lips had gone slack, head moving easily with Keith’s gentle rhythm.

Keith glanced down as he felt a fleeting vibration against his leg. Shiro was humming, struggling to drag his eyelids open. “You’re so easy,” he teased, lips twitching fondly.

A low gurgle disrupted the relatively peaceful silence and Keith felt Shiro immediately tense beneath his hand, bare toes curling as his stomach contracted with a fresh bout of cramps. Keith attempted to shush him, moving his hand to rub circles down the arch of Shiro’s back - but the spell had been broken. Shiro raised a fist to his lips just in time to muffle a wet sounding belch. Keith winced, involuntarily leaning further away.

“Just let me know if you’re gonna…you know,“ Keith prompted, warily eyeing Shiro’s bobbing throat.

Shiro curled in on himself, not bothering to suppress the next burp that rolled out of him. The guttural noise quickly morphed into a weak gag as his hand strayed down to cradle his upset belly. “I — I think —“ he paused to hiccup, pressing his face even harder against Keith’s thigh as he struggled to regain control. Another muffled gag sent Keith scrambling to drag over the bin even as Shiro desperately tried to swallow it down.

“Here,” Keith coaxed. “Come on, big guy. You’re all right.”

Shiro propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over the side of the couch with a miserable groan. His shoulders rolled with a silent heave, immediately burping up a small mouthful of watery bile into the bucket.

“Okay — shit,” Keith grimaced. He’d been hoping for a little more time to brace himself before Shiro lost it. “Uhh, it’s fine,” he stammered, making sure to hold the bin steady. A sharp retch punctuated by a full-bodied shudder sent Shiro’s head sagging lower into the bucket. “— just breathe I — I guess,” Keith coached awkwardly, painfully aware that he was out of his depth. He kept his hand on Shiro’s back, occasionally rubbing an encouraging circle between the coiled shoulder blades.

Shiro lifted his head for a moment, strings of saliva dribbling languidly from his open mouth as he panted, fingers tangling in his hair as he attempted to push it out of his face. “So - sorr—“ he slurred, interrupted by another belching gag. It was painfully obvious that Shiro was running on empty. He’d had nothing but a few sips of water for hours.

“Easy,” Keith soothed, reaching around to gather Shiro’s bangs back for him. One less thing to worry about cleaning up later. “Shiro, you don’t have anything left. Try to calm down.”

Shiro’s back quivered with a few more unproductive heaves before he began swallowing down the urge, spitting out the residual aftertaste.

“This sucks,” he whispered, voice thick with lingering nausea. He slumped back against the pillows, panting raggedly as he licked at the sweat beading over his upper lip. “Sorry.”

“Would you quit apologizing?” Keith admonished, reaching for the washcloth he’d brought earlier and wetting it with a few splashes from the water bottle. He carefully dabbed at Shiro’s clammy face, then wiped his mouth. “It’s not your fault you’re sick.”

“You should be out,“ Shiro murmured, limbs growing heavy as the adrenaline wore off and feverish exhaustion set in. “Doin’ things. Not stuck — here.” His shoulders jolted with a leftover hiccup.

“What things?” Keith quirked an indulgent eyebrow, trying not to smile.

“I don’ know,” Shiro admitted quietly after a few long seconds. Keith honestly thought he’d fallen asleep. “Important things.”

_Shiro, you are important -_

…was what Keith almost blurted, biting his lip to keep the embarrassing sentiment from slipping out. But instead, he jiggled his leg so that Shiro’s head could rest more comfortably. He reached over to tug down the sick boy’s disheveled sweatshirt as the shivers reemerged and the tedious cycle started all over again.

“Fever’s making you delirious, Takashi,” Keith said. “Shut up and sleep it off.” His gentle fingers belayed the harsh tone as he soothed Shiro into an exhausted doze.

Shiro slurred a drowsy _thank you_ into Keith’s lap, congested breaths evening out as sleep finally pulled him down.

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith whispered, rolling his eyes as Shiro’s warm breath puffed gently against his thigh.

If Shiro could finally get some rest, sitting still for an hour was worth the inevitable drool stain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Keith take Lotor out for a drink. Rich, pretty boy can't hold his liquor.

Shiro’s lips twitched with amusement as he took another sip of his beer.

When he’d told Keith that he’d invited Lotor to join them, Keith’s unenthusiastic response had been, “The foreign kid? Seriously?”. And now the two were an hour deep into a rhetorical argument about the probability of space aliens and dominant species. Granted, it had taken a few drinks for Keith to loosen up and interact with more than a disgruntled huff, but Shiro counted it as a win.

He was ninety-nine percent sure that Lotor had never been to a bar in his life, let alone accompanied by other humans. Shiro knew the guy was dedicated to his studies, but honestly it was a little depressing how surprised he’d seemed that someone would ask him to hang out.

Shiro had made a considerable effort to buffer the awkward tension in the beginning, but as the night progressed he realized that now he was watching the show from the sidelines. He was all right with that, perfectly content to listen. So long as the other two were having a good time, even if their version meant arguing with each other until they were blue in the face.

Shiro finished off his beer in two gulps and ordered another round. He was warm and pleasantly buzzed, teetering on the verge of feeling drunk. _Hmmph, lightweight_. Shiro thanked the bartender and took a deep swig of the icy beverage, chuckling softly to himself as the debate raged on beside him.

“Your most developed brain cell must be the size of a dust mite if you honestly believe your agility could match that of an intergalactic predator,” Lotor scoffed, taking a delicate sip of his gin and tonic. Three drinks in and he’d finally conceded to unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. The man’s pristine appearance was something he obviously took a lot of pride in maintaining. Shiro was secretly tickled. He was gradually unwinding that corkscrew stuck up Lotor’s shapely ass.

Keith, on the the other hand, sprawling with one combat boot balanced against the edge of the bar while he lazily swirled the last dregs of his whiskey, looked anything but impressed. Without breaking eye contact, he drained the glass and thrust it down on the bar with more force than was really necessary.

“Not just match it,” Keith’s eyes were bright, inviting a challenge. “Destroy it. And we’d both leave your pussy ass choking on our dust.”

Lotor’s eyes narrowed the tiniest millimeter. “Your argument is irrelevant,” he dismissed, gentile as ever. “You conveniently seemed to have forgotten the entire point. They would destroy you and anyone else in their wake before you could even formulate the notion of a competition.”

Shiro snorted at the pissy look on Keith’s face, the indignant flare of nostrils and the patented laser-beam glare. He remembered Lotor mentioning that back home his father was some sort of dignitary - an important one. Made sense. He was all smooth talk and infuriating logic.

“I need a shot,” Keith groused. “You do, too. I think you’re making too much sense to yourself.”

Oh, boy. Shiro could see where this was going.

Keith didn’t wait for Lotor to respond. He swiveled on his stool and ordered a round of shots. “Shiro you’re getting in on this,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m good,” Shiro held up his hand, gesturing to the nearly full beer bottle. Keith wasn’t deterred.

“Who’s harebrained idea was this again?” Keith goaded, a distinctly tipsy smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “Time for the instigator to take his medicine like a good boy.”

“Fine,” Shiro sighed after a few seconds, trying to avoid another argument. “But we’re not going nuts. We all have classes tomorrow.”

Famous last words, indeed. One shot inevitably turned into three, and then an impromptu drinking game - the rules of which Keith and Lotor bickered over until Shiro eventually stepped between them and drank both of their turns.

“That’s cheating,” Keith gaped. “Disqualified!”

“Or is it…” Lotor paused, eyes bright with what could only be excitement, watching intently as Shiro rolled his shoulders against the burn of the liquor. Then Lotor hiccuped. Loudly. He blushed, quickly pressing a fist to his mouth. “Oh, pardon me,” he mumbled, swaying a little on his stool.

Keith snorted and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “You’re pardoned, your highness,” he mocked good-naturedly.

But this time, Lotor didn’t have a comeback. He seemed distracted, staring fixedly at the small remainder of liquor in his shot glass, fist still hovering over his lips. His shoulders jerked with another hiccup.

Shiro frowned at Lotor through slightly blurred vision and tried to recall exactly how much they’d had to drink. Definitely more than was wise for an 8am alarm clock. He knew he should have called it quits a while ago. And now it seemed Lotor was going to be the first to pay the price. Not surprising considering Shiro wasn’t certain the guy had ever had a stiff drink in his life. He suddenly felt incredibly guilty. After all, this had been his idea.

“Lotor?” Shiro attempted to sound casual as he sidled up to the bar, administering a much gentler pat. “You hangin’ in there?”

Lotor nodded, even as he began sliding off the stool. “Yes,” he mustered with a little more emphasis than necessary, obviously struggling not to slur. He swallowed carefully, then again.

“Probably time to call it a night,” Shiro smiled. “I think I’m losing steam.”

Keith opened his mouth to protest, but Shiro silenced him with a single raised eyebrow. He was confused for a moment before his alcohol-addled brain caught on to the situation. Keith rolled his eyes and begrudgingly swiveled to ask the bartender for their tab.

Shiro casually slipped his arm around Lotor’s waist, feigning camaraderie when in actuality he was hoping to prevent the other man from face-planting.

Lotor was either too drunk, or feeling too sick to protest the blatant invasion of his personal space. He swayed, listing against Shiro’s shoulder, slowly licking his lips. “I— I don’t feel very well,” he admitted in a thick voice. He sagged towards the floor and Shiro instinctively tightened his grip.

“Whoa, okay,” Shiro grunted, hauling Lotor back to his feet and urging him towards the restrooms. “Here we go.” Lotor held on to Shiro’s arm, too dizzy not to comply.

“I feel—very strange,” Lotor slurred through a much wetter sounding hiccup. He paused to swallow again, lurched with a stifled gag.

“Yeah, okay, just hold on,” Shiro shushed, then called over his shoulder, “Keith can you bring a glass of water?” He didn’t wait for Keith to acknowledge. Lotor abruptly broke free and bolted for the restrooms, gagging into his hand. Shiro cursed under his breath and hurried after him.

Lotor had made it into a stall, the door was swinging wildly on its hinges. He was bent over double, one arm braced against the wall, and the other struggling to pull back his hair.

Shiro hovered just outside the doorway. “Lotor?” he stammered, clearing his throat. “Hey, you gonna be okay?” Lotor retched. “Crap,” Shiro breathed, and stepped inside.

Another spine-curling retch and Lotor clumsily spread his legs to avoid the backsplash as a mouthful of vomit sloshed into the bowl. He panted through a harsh cough and belched, ushering up another surge of mostly alcohol. Some of the liquid splashed over the side of the toilet and Lotor sagged against the wall, both arms working to hold him upright, now.

“Hey, all right,” Shiro was behind him now, urging him to crouch down over the bowl. He quickly gathered up Lotor’s mane of loose hair and held it in place. “Okay…just, uh, get it up. I’ve got you.”

Shiro stood over Lotor while he squatted in front of the bowl, ironically conscious of the unsanitary floors despite his current state. Lotor balanced his elbows on the rim and supported his head in hands. Saliva dangled from his lips and he didn’t bother spitting. His muscles spasmed as a gurgling noise picked up momentum, rolled into a belch, and forced tears to his eyes. Lotor’s lips parted, allowing the next wave to spill out of him without tensing up, unhindered. He was getting tired.

“Jesus…” Keith’s voice whispered behind them. He was standing just inside the door with a rocks glass full of water and ice. “This hit him fast, huh? I didn’t think we had that much to drink.”

“Sorry,” Lotor grunted, then hiccuped over the bowl. “I don’t — don’ really drink.” He grimaced at the memory of the damned alcohol and groaned, aiming a sick belch towards the water.

Keith echoed the groan, gagging softly behind his hand. He waggled the glass of water at Shiro. “Here, take it,” he begged. “I can’t be in here.”

“Not you, too,” Shiro almost snorted. Keith ignored him and practically hopped out of the bathroom when Lotor lurched forward with an unproductive heave. “Wuss,” Shiro murmured under his breath.

Lotor was struggling to sit up, fumbling with the roll of toilet paper. He wiped his mouth and sat back against the stall. “Thank you,” he gulped, voice a little clearer, now. “I think I’m feeling better. I am so sorry you had to see that—“

“Stop apologizing,” Shiro shook his head, gently squeezing Lotor’s shoulder. “This is my fault if it’s anyones.”

“Oh god,” Lotor moaned. “I have a presentation tomorrow.”

Shiro rubbed a hand across the other boy’s shoulders. “Shit, yeah, we better get you home.”

Lotor pushed himself to his feet, pausing a moment to ride out the wave of lightheadedness.

“Easy,” Shiro encouraged. He looped his arm around Lotor’s waist, the other hand braced lightly against his chest. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“I’m okay,” Lotor insisted, swallowing queasily. He closed his eyes, sagging heavily against Shiro’s shoulder. “You’re quite good at this, you know,” he slurred softly.

“Uh, thanks?” Shiro quirked a shy smile, tightening his grip when Lotor swayed. He had to admit that the soft mane of silver hair blanketing his shoulder, Lotor’s hot, albeit unpleasantly fragrant breath warming his t-shirt, the trusting presence leaning on him, it was all rather nice.

An hour later, after Lotor had been force-fed water and tucked into bed, Shiro braced himself for the inevitable teasing.

“Dude, he is so in to you,” Keith cackled, still buzzing. “I’m surprised he didn’t pull you into that twin bed with him.”

Shiro felt the tips of his ears growing hot. He cleared his throat and took a long drink from his own water bottle. “He was just a little drunk. He wasn’t himself. And _shut up._ ”


End file.
